


The Local Town Witch

by flyingonfeatherlesswings



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Witchcraft, kids being nosey and bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingonfeatherlesswings/pseuds/flyingonfeatherlesswings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On one hot, boring Louisiana day, a group of kids decide to snoop on a man who has come to be known as the local town witch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Local Town Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Now with fanart of witchy Stephen!  
> http://shoujobenedict.tumblr.com/post/149399757973/friendly-neighborhood-witch-stephen-strange-based

If asked, no one in the small town could tell you when the man had moved in. The older folk would swear that the derelict mansion, which had somehow gained the name Sanctum (another mystery for another day), had been empty for years. But the man’s presence had just seemed to come about. One day someone started talking about how some of the vines that had covered the windows of the Sanctum had been cleared and you could see the lights shining from the road on some evenings. But that was it, no moving vans, no work crews repairing the sagging floorboards and stripping the surrounding trees of the oppressive Spanish moss they were draped in. The only evidence that the sudden inhabitant was a man was just a few glimpses of a tall, broad-shouldered figure that could be seen tending the small garden that ran alongside the house. But no one had seen his any facial features, his face obscured by a large floppy hat, so if he was visiting the town, the locals may not have noticed and may have just taken him as a visitor. The only sighting outside of the grounds of the Sanctum was Mrs. Conway saying that one early morning someone swept into the post office to throw some letters in the mailbox. She had only caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye since she was seeing to something in the back, but it must have been him she claimed, everyone around here at least stopped to say hello, especially to her, being so friendly and all. Of course, many doubted her claim. 

But this being the South, a few of the town’s women had tried to offer up a plate of cookies or a casserole in a thinly veiled attempt to get some answers and some gossip fodder. But after they had fought their way through the old overgrown front yard of the Sanctum, their polite knocking went unanswered. Actually, it was almost like there was a force around the place, driving them away, they told their friends while crossing themselves. 

Without much fuel to fire up rumors, the town moved on from the discussion of the Sanctum and its new caretaker. Whoever he was, he wasn’t causing any trouble and didn’t seem to be draining the community of any resources, though a man who worked at the local electric company swore they hadn’t done any work at the place so only god knows how that place was getting lit up. Time went on and people went about their business. 

Well, that is, except for the children. Curiosity ran a bit deeper in that group and on the long Louisiana summer days between video game sessions and hunting for crawdads in the creek, the kids would weave tales about the man, who they had dubbed the local town witch. One boy argued that witch was a feminine term and warlock, wizard or even sorcerer worked better. But the other children explained that one who lives in a creepy old house overgrown with vines is a witch, a wizard looked in a castle on top of a mountain or something. Anyway, men had been hanged during the Salem Witch Trials, they had learned about it in history class, hadn’t they?  
So yeah, “witch” was a gender neutral term. 

On one particularly boring summer afternoon, when no one had money for the arcade and they had already played all the video games they owned to death, a group of kids, four boys and two girls, sat around in the lawn chairs outside the snow cone shack in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Their snow cones had long since been eaten and now the teen manning the shack was scowling at them from behind her iPhone, annoyed by their childish chatter. Chatter that eventually turned to a certain town witch. 

“Why do you think no one tried to, I don’t know, go look through his window or something?” asked one of the girls. 

“Because he’s a witch! He’d turn you into a toad or something! That’s what witches do!” replied one of the boys. 

One boy, with black hair hanging past his ears and pale skin currently getting burned under the Louisiana sun, had been mostly quiet for the duration of their discussion but suddenly piped up, “Maybe not. I mean just because he’s a witch doesn’t mean he can do transformation spells, maybe he just makes potions or voodoo dolls or something.” 

Before anyone could carry on with that thought, the boy who had suggested the toad transformation, shot up in his chair and exclaimed. “Well I have an idea! How about we go to the Sanctum and see if we can catch him in the act. You know, stirring up a potion in a cauldron or something. It’s stupid just sitting around talking about it. After all, maybe he’s a good witch! Like in Wizard of Oz.” 

“Uh there was a bad witch in Wizard of Oz too,” said a girl. 

“Well we’ll never know until we try, who is with me?” 

And so the ragtag group planned out their mission while they munched on cookies that night at one of their houses. They’d have their phones in case anything went wrong and everyone had their roles, they were ready to get some answers. 

The next morning they all met early at the corner gas station on their bikes. They all seemed to be in good spirits, except the dark-haired boy who looked a bit paler than usual, despite the sunburn spread over his cheeks. 

As they rode up to the mansion it loomed over them almost daring them to approach. Approaching wasn’t difficult though, the nosey women had done it, there was no large foreboding padlocked gate, just a small unlatched one. Too easy. 

One of the girls stayed on the road as a look-out, while the other five made their way towards the front door. They took in the overgrown wildflowers and bushes, making sure their treading was light and would make minimal sound. They had discussed coming here at night, but they hadn’t been able to muster up the courage for that adventure and they all agreed it wasn’t safe. Best go in the morning and anyway, maybe witches slept during the day (“That’s vampires” one boy supplied but was ignored by the others). 

Each kid had been assigned a window and were creeping their way towards them. The pale, nervous boy was assigned the window next to the front door and he stepped lightly onto the front porch, cringing as it made creaking noises under his steps. He finally got to his destination and put his hands around his eyes to peek in. There wasn’t much to see through the smudged glass, cloth-draped furniture maybe, an old hat-stand and something that might be an old boot lying next to it. 

His investigation was halted though when the front door suddenly slammed open. The boy let out a shout that sent the others running for the front gate and he was immediately doing the same and lept off the porch, but in his hurried escape he didn’t see an exposed root which his foot caught on, sending him sprawling into a thorny bush with a yelp of surprise.

Despite the instant stab of pain from his right ankle, the boy tried to free himself, calling out to his friends, “Guys! Help! I’m caught on a bush and my leg’s hurt! Guys!” but his friends had already sped away, thinking he wouldn’t be far behind. 

Realizing his cries for help would go unanswered, the boy tried to unhook his clothing from the thorns while clenching his teeth and fighting back tears. 

“Oh dear, do you need some assistance?” 

The boy swung his head around towards the front door and there was a man looking down at him from the porch. He was wearing a bright red bath robe over a t-shirt and blue lounge pants. His age was a bit indeterminable, but he had some grey streaks pointing to him being middle-aged. His eyes were fairly particular, very pale and wide-set, and were currently assessing the 11 year-old boy who was caught in bush in his front yard.

The boy realizing the worst had happened, even if the man didn’t look that intimidating, let out a small sob and managed to get out, “I’m stuck, my leg hurts.” 

The man hopped down to inspect the boy, “Ah, so you are in need of help.” 

“Yes,” said the boy through clenched teeth. 

The man carefully detached all the thorns and looked over the boy’s ankle, “Do you mind if I carry you? I don’t like the idea of you putting weight on that leg until I’ve had a closer look and I don’t think you like the idea of being in that bush any longer.” 

The boy didn’t have many options, he wasn’t exactly going to lie here until someone else came to rescue him, so he nodded and the man leaned over to scoop up the boy, putting an arm under his legs and around his shoulders. The man wasn’t exactly stick-thin and the boy was small for his age so the man had no problem carrying him into the house. They walked through the dusty, unused foyer that the boy had been spying on. It was as abandoned looking as it had looked from the outside. The boy was disappointed because it contained nothing of interest and certainly wasn’t worth possibly breaking his leg over. 

The man slipped down a hallway, being careful not to bang his cargo on the walls. They entered into a small, screened-in porch area, full of plants in pots, a makeshift greenhouse that led into the garden, which looked like it may be the only well kept part of the house. The man moved over to a plush wicker couch set against the wall of the house and set down the boy, and used a pillow to prop up his injured ankle. 

“Now that’s sorted, how about I take a look at that leg?” asked the man, pulling up a wooden folding chair. 

The man rolled up the boy’s right pant leg, exposing his red, swollen ankle. 

The boy let out a whimper at the sight. 

“Is it broken?”

The man carefully moved the boy’s foot in a circular motion and nodded to himself. “No, just a sprain, you’ll be back to snooping around stranger’s yards in no time,” said the man with a wink, sitting down on the chair. 

The boy ignored the jab, “How do you know it’s not broken? If it is my mom is gonna kill me! We can’t afford the hospital bills and she already has debt from-” 

The man cut off the boy before he could become too hysterical, holding up a hand. 

“I know because I am--I used to be a doctor. So you know what they say, you can trust me.”

The boy had calmed down but now his attention was captured by the hand the man had held up to cease his rambling. His hands were red and scarred, long thin surgical lines running down each finger. 

“What happened to your hands?” asked the boy with an open, honest curiosity possessed by 11 year-olds. 

The man looked down at his hands, turning them over a few times, “I said, ‘used to be a doctor’, didn’t I?” he said with a soft murmur, almost too low for the boy to catch. His eyes snapped back up, “But nevermind, that was long ago, not a matter of importance, just an accident, you seem familiar with those yourself, don’t you?” 

The boy grimaced, “Not really, you just scared me is all.”

“Well what exactly were you doing snooping around private property?” 

“It was my friends’ idea! We just wanted to look around, we weren’t gonna take anything! And I didn’t even want to come!” exclaimed the boy. 

“Then why did you?” asked the man with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

“Well I uh I…”

“To impress a girl?”

The boy’s mouth snapped close and somehow he sunburned cheeks became even redder. 

The man sat up straighter in the chair, realization dawning his face, “Oh wait sorry, I’m being assumptive, not to impress a girl,” he said with a smile. 

“How did you-” the boy started before he stopped himself, hands flying to his mouth in shock. 

The man chuckled to himself, “Don’t worry, as an adult I’m required to tease you about the object of your affections no matter what gender they may happen to be. It’s a perk, comes with the age along with the grey hair,” the man finished with an arm flourish indicating the streaks. 

The man’s nonchalance about his preference had slightly reassured the boy, but he continued to stare down at his lap and refused to make eye contact with the man, prompting the man to continue with the previous topic of discussion. 

“So are there slanderous rumors about me circulating around town? Is that why you and your little group of fellow miscreants decided to tromp around my yard?” asked the man putting his hands on his knees, leaning forward in interest. 

The boy peeked through his hair, giving the man a sideways glance, “What does ‘slanderous’ mean?” 

“Oh, uh, it means something that damages one’s reputation.” 

“Well you don’t exactly have a reputation to damage do you? All you do is stay cooped up in your creepy house.”

“That’s true, I’ll give you that,” said the man, sitting back with a laugh, “I guess I didn’t really adhere to the Southern rituals of hospitality. I think a few ladies came around, but to be honest, I’d rather have the nosey preteens around for tea, at least you all are honest in your endeavors.”

“Yeah, some people think you may even be a witch!” 

“Ah, now we are getting somewhere, braving the town witch were you? Thinking I may turn you into a toad if I caught you, huh?”

“I said some people, not us,” said the boy defensively, crossing his arms with a huff. 

The conversation was broken off suddenly when a fluffy white cat jumped up onto the boy. The boy startled a little with a yelp but the cat placidly sat on his stomach staring at him with bright blue eyes set in a brown face. 

“Oh cool,” said the boy, “A Himalayan.” He reached forward and the cat stretched up to run its head on the boy’s palm. “My uncle used to have one.” 

“Yes, not a black cat, sorry. I guess I’m not living up to the hype about me,” said the man, reaching forward to scratch the cat under its chin. 

“Does he have a name?” asked the boy, who was stroking the cat now laid out on his chest, purring contently. 

“It’s a she and when she came to me the vet told me she was very old and wouldn’t live many more years so for a while I just called her ‘cat’, but here she still is years later so I’ve given her the title, ‘The Ancient One’. I think a title fits her personality better than a name anyway. So haughty.” 

The boy laughed, “Okay but that’s a bit of a mouthful of a name.” Suddenly, the boy stopped his petting and looked at the man, “Uh, actually, what’s your name?” 

“Oh yes, I do suppose we weren’t properly introduced,” said the man, “My name is Strange.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

The man smiled, “I’ve heard that one a few times too many. No my name is Stephen Strange. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The man, Strange, held out his hand for the boy to shake.

“Um yeah, hi,” said the boy, shaking Strange’s hand. “I’m Billy. Billy Kaplan.”

“Well Billy, our chat has been fun, but how about I call someone to come pick you up? Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but your friends probably think I’ve eaten you by now. And even if it’s just a sprain, I’m not exactly expecting you to walk home on that ankle.” 

“Oh,” said Billy, reaching around to pull out his phone from his pocket, upsetting the Ancient One who made a trill of displeasure. “I can call my mom, she could come get me on her lunch break. But uh, could we maybe not tell her how I got hurt?”  
Strange smiled back, “What do you mean? You were just riding your bike by and fell off that’s all. I heard you shout and came out and helped you. No harm done.” 

“Really?” asked Billy. 

“My cat likes you, I’ll vouch for you. This time, at least.”

 

Billy’s mom rushed over from work to pick up her son and the kind man who had seen to him helped him hobble out to her car. His mother got out to talk to the mysterious, and rather handsome man, and Billy watched from the front seat as she took a paper bag from him, saying another thank you and shaking his hand one more time before walking back to the car. 

“What a nice man,” said his mom, placing the bag on the inner console between her and her son.

“What is it?” asked Billy peering up and into the bag. 

“It’s an herbal tea he made himself from his garden he said would help with the swelling. And a poultice he also made that’s supposed to be helpful for your grandmother’s arthritis. Bit of a hippy it seems, but he’s very thoughtful.”

They continued the drive home in silence, Billy letting the sounds of the radio fill the car as he stared out the window, wondering how Strange could possibly know about his grandmother.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to any Billy Kaplan fans if I got the character wrong, I'll admit that I just think it'd be cute for him and Strange to interact and I'm not so in the know with the character.


End file.
